Murder of a Child
by fanficwriter72662
Summary: Aurelia wasn't born a murderer; she was made one. Her entire childhood she was taught how to fight. But what happens when fighting isn't enough? And what if maybe, just maybe, there is someone who thinks the same way? Hunger Games #54


**Please note that I don't own the Hunger Games, or any Hunger Games related stuff in here.**

Chapter 1

Sometimes I like to pretend that I was a normal child. Then I snap back into reality.

Starting from when I was born, everyone looked at me differently. Even the doctors didn't want my mother to see me, because they were afraid she might freak out. My mom had to practically beg the nurses to bring me to her.

My mom likes to say that she fell in love with me at first sight, but I know that she is lying. My face sort of reminds me of a squash, with a round top and bottom, and a pushed in middle. My eyes are stuck deep into my head, and my nose looks like I broke it at least twice. My mouth looks too big and too small at the same time, and my ears look like pieces of cauliflower. One look at me and you'd think that I was made in a laboratory. I was probably the ugliest child in District 2.

On my first day of preschool, a bigger kid came over to me and started to laugh.

"Why does your face look like that?" he asked, scrunching up his eyes.

I didn't have an answer for him, so I just stood there, staring at him.

"Maybe you got broken when you were born," he said, almost like he was considering it. He suddenly stepped towards me and knocked my backpack out of my hand. The teacher was busy with another student who lost their jacket, and didn't see this.

I started to cry, because I didn't feel broken. The boy then started kicking my bag, and my lunchbox fell out. His eyes narrowed, and he reached inside and took my turkey sandwich. He pulled it out of its plastic container and started to eat it right in front of me. He even licked his fingers afterwards.

"Alright class, come to the carpet do we can start to get to know each other." When the boy heard the teacher's voice, he quickly threw the container at me and ran to the rug like a perfect little angel. But I knew better, and for the rest of the day I didn't say a word.

When I got home and my dad asked me how my day was, I started crying all over again. He calmed me down and told me to tell him what happened. When I explained it to him, he had a "polite chat" with the boy's mother. And after that, he started signing me up to train to defend myself.

My dad didn't know anything about martial arts, so he signed me up for every class that would take me. Starting that week every day I would have karate, taekwondo, kickboxing, jujitsu, krav maga, and judo. Every day my mom would walk me to a class, where I would learn as hard as I could, thinking about the boy.

One day, about a month later, the boy started to bother me again. He came over to me and asked why my face looked the way it did again. This time, however, I didn't let him push me around. Instead, I tackled him and started beating the crap out of him. The teacher found me as soon as the boy's nose sent me to the principal, who scolded me for twenty minutes straight. I still felt oddly pleased though, and that feeling was a little bit scary. When I came home, my dad congratulated me and took me out for ice cream after reprimanding me. I still remember that odd sensation, though, and I feel it every time I go against someone.

After a few years, my dad started signing me up for competitions. Every week I would fight against a different opponent, who always doubted me as soon as they saw my face. But I proved them wrong and beat every single one who ever challenged me. My opponents got bigger, and stronger, and older, but I still beat them effortlessly. It was as if my heart was telling me that I was born to do this, and I was born to win.

When the teachers ran out of moves to teach me, my dad signed me up to learn how to use weapons. Frank, one of his old friends, offered to teach me whichever weapon I wanted. He collected all sorts of tools, and his entire basement was full of them. But when I saw the scythe, I knew I had to choose it.

Its black blade and jade handle made all of the other weapons seem childish and immature. It pretty much represented everything I wasn't: cool, sleek, and perfectly made. As soon as I picked it up, I gave Frank a look and he started teaching me right away.

When I first started learning, I was a wreck. One time I swung it so hard, it went flying into the wall and made a huge hole right next to Frank's head. After that I followed instructions to the t.

It took many years, but I eventually learned how to use the scythe. I could throw it ten feet, twenty feet, even forty feet, with enough accuracy to kill. Even Frank started to look intimidated.

While this was happening, in school I was slowly drifting farther and farther from everyone else. No one would talk to me, sit with me, or even be near me. Even the teachers wouldn't ask for missing homeworks or incomplete assignments. Very soon I was completely invisible in the eyes of my peers. And I was ok with that.

It was around this time that my dad started looking into the Hunger Games. He figured out that if you win, you get to live in a mansion and be rich and famous. He tried asking me many times to be in it, not because he wanted me to die, but because he was so confident I would win.

One day I came home to find him sitting in the living room, staring straight at me. I tried to look normal, but his gaze was unbreaking.

"Hi dad," I finally said after a few uncomfortable moments.

"Hello honey," he responded, breaking out of his trance. "How was your day?"

"It was good," I answered, leaving out the fact that I got a 73 on my language arts test. Better let him find out on his own, I thought to myself.

"That's good. There's someone here I want you to meet." He got up and I could see a man sitting next to him, with long gray hair and piercing green eyes. Quite possibly the most famous eyes in the District.

"Mason Trews?" I asked in awe. Everyone knew who the Hunger Games victor was. He lived on a high hill on the outskirts of town, in the biggest mansion around. Every time he went through the market, people rushed to offer things for him to buy, because of course he could afford it. He rarely went out, though, and spent most of his time in his mansion alone.

"That's me," he replied without a hint of a smile. I guess he lost his sense of humor after murdering 4 children when he was only 15. I hear he even killed the other tribute from District 2.

"Aurelia, sweetie, I want you to talk to Mr. Trews about the Hunger Games, and why you should do it," my dad told me. I looked at Mr. Trews, and I could tell that neither of us wanted to talk about the Hunger Games. But my dad gave me a look, and then got up to "leave us to our conversation".

We sat there for a couple of minutes, neither of us saying a word. Finally, Mason started to talk.

"The thing you need to know most about the Hunger Games is that you don't want to be in it," he said in a gruff voice. "No matter what you think it will be like, it is so much worse. I can't stress that enough."

I must have looked terrified, because he softened his voice a little.

"However, if you win, you are on the road to success. You never have to work a day in your life. You can have anyone you want. And you'll be able to support your family, so they won't have to work either."

I have to admit, what he was saying made me want to enter a little. But I recalled what he mentioned just moments ago. "No matter what you think it will be like, it is so much worse."

"I'm not going to make your decision for you, but your dad told me a lot about your talents and I think you might have a chance of winning. But don't forget what's at stake," he said, getting up from his seat. My dad came back into the room, and Mason left.

"What did he say?" my dad asked, looking a little worried.

"He just told me about the process," I answered, trying to look nonchalant. It must have worked, because my dad relaxed a little.

"I know I've been pressuring you to make a decision, but I want you to know that it is really your choice. I will still support you if you decide not to enter, and I will totally understand why."

No you won't, I wanted to tell him. You didn't hear the way Mason talked about it. Even when he was saying the good things, it looked like he was straining a little.

But something echoed in my mind. You can have anyone you want. Anyone you want… Anyone… At the moment I had zero friends, much less boyfriends. Not even a study partner. But if I entered this, I'd be a hero. Everyone would like me, and I would never be lonely again. My mind flashed to the image of Mason's empty house on the highest hill, btu I got that image out of my head.

"I'll do it, dad," I answered him, trying to look confident with my decision even though I could feel a knot forming in the pit of my stomach. He was so surprised he almost fell out of his chair. But he recovered and smiled at me.

"Well alright then. We better start extra training if we want to be ready in a month," he said, and I smiled nervously back. A month, I thought. I have a little bit of time.


End file.
